Checkmate
by calliedearest
Summary: Centers around Hawkeye and Mustang's relationship five years after the Promised Day. Rated T for mature themes in earlier chapters, rating will change to M later for sexual content in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Small chapters, one each day. This will almost entirely focus on Riza and Roy. I don't own FMA. Set five years after the Promised Day.**

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><p>She was late to work. Her empty desk occupied more presence in the room than her attendance might have, and Mustang was most bothered at her tardiness. It isn't easy for men in power to mind their patience when kept waiting so he passed the time by imagining what a hurry she must be in. He pictured her across town throwing on her uniform, sloppily putting up her hair as she ran out the door, fidgeting with the keys to lock the door while balancing breakfast in one hand and paperwork in the other. Perhaps Black Hayate would have to wait for his kibble until after work, or maybe she would still be trying to tuck in her shirt as she scurried down the sidewalk.<p>

As each tiredly carried out their work, the other soldiers seemed less preoccupied with the situation. They had stacks of paperwork that made their old assignments with Mustang look like playtime, but that was what they expected when they agreed to work under the Flame Alchemist after he became Fuhrer. Although they were honored to be so close in office to their country's leader, the new assignment was admittedly pretty dogged. On a daily basis they were behind a desk way more than they ever saw action in the field and even felt useless at times, like they had already fought their great battle and the rest of their lives held too little meaning. But they were paid well for the work they did under Fuhrer Mustang.

Still, the battle on the Promised Day five years ago felt like an eternity. A soldier's job is to defend and fight, nowadays they seem to be of very little relevance. Roy's team helped push him to the top, they fought in the battles against the homunculi, and now the game is over. What are the knight, rook, bishop, and queen to do after the king has won? For the past five years they have waited. And watched. And sat in their desks, filing papers, wondered what comes next.

"Sir," Havoc barked to Mustang from the edge of the Fuhrer's oak desk.

Roy turned from the window, distracted from his musings of Lieutenant Hawkeye, "Yes, what is it, Havoc?"

"I need to speak to you about my letter of resignation," Havoc wasn't surprised by the discontented expression Mustang's face fell to and decided to explain. "It's time to find a new adventure, sir. I mean, the old days were great and you know I'd have done anything I could've to help you. But you've made it now and you don't need me anymore. You can get someone better to do the job I have right now. My heart's just not into it anymore. You understand, sir."

Roy tried to offer a field position and rearrange his assignment, but Havoc insisted on leaving. By eleven o'clock he had officially submitted the forms and was working his last two weeks under the nostalgic air of his superior and his colleagues. All four went to lunch at the bistro across the street for a while before returning and finding that Hawkeye had still failed to show.


	2. Chapter 2

Riza searched for the device making such an unbearable, shrill sound in her apartment before realizing that the phone was ringing. She glared at it for a moment, hoping to will it or intimidate it into submission, but it carried out its full cantor. The volume of the ring made the following silence more intense than the one preceding it, so Riza took another drink. Hayate wagged his tail and licked her hand- he loved it when she sat on the floor. She peered at her watch, half past noon. That might've been work...

She had spent the night at a bar down the street. After fighting off some noble try-hard anarchist who kept yelling at her for being in uniform, an older woman approached her with some drunken advice.

"You in the military, little missy?" she woman croaked, spilling scotch onto her shoes. "Well then, you listen to me. You've killed but that doesn't make you a murderer. You've withheld the truth but that doesn't make you a liar. You've been a damn good soldier but that doesn't make you worth it."

She stopped a moment, looked Riza in the eye, and put a shaky hand onto the Lieutenant's gun holster. The women gave her a knowing look before saying, "Do yourself a favor," she patted the gun. Riza understood the implied suggestion and her stomach sank. Logically, she knew that the drunken ramblings of a random existentialist couldn't have nearly enough insight into her life to know whether it was worth living or not. But the idea. The stupid idea that had already been conceived but never acknowledged was being shoved at her and gave her something to drink about. She called for two more shots of whatever was strongest before heading home.

Hawkeye hadn't slept off any drinks, so the filth in her apartment was one even Hayate didn't want to deal with. She'd gotten sick too many times to remember which rooms were still clean, her muscles ached and shook, her face was wet, her clothes were disgusting, her mind raced with thoughts she didn't want.

Damn it, soldiers are stronger than this. Weak answers aren't answers…but. It isn't weak if it's to protect other people. The research she carried with her was dangerous, so she promised herself that once she had stood by Roy until the very end she would take her body out of this world before it could hurt more people.

Then a thought. A dangerous, sad, terrible, but true realization swept over her. Mustang is Fuhrer now. This is the end. The fight to the top is over. _I'm free. _


	3. Chapter 3

"Lieutenant Hawkeye didn't answer, log her absence today as a 'no call, no show' for disciplinary review," Mustang said to Feury.

"Sure thing, boss!"

Roy dismissed his security detail as he left Central Command, "I have an errand to run tonight. I'll be safe enough to go alone." They put up a small fight before rolling. The Fuhrer did what he wanted most of the time whether it was safe or not, his security guys knew that.

Strolling casually by military housing, he slowed as he approached Hawkeye's apartment. He noticed that lights were on and that the windows were slightly opened and decided that this meant she was home. Before Roy could knock on the door, Black Hayate noticed him outside and bombarded him with more noise that he had ever seen the dog let out. Hayate was normally so well behaved since Riza would never stand for anything less from him, but tonight he growled and barked and scratched at the window in a desperate cry. Roy saw the dogs whining and interpreted it as a cry for help—one that didn't sit well with the Fuhrer. His plans to knock were abandoned as he creeped toward the window and peered inside. The curtains were fixed so that he could see only a small portion of the den; a few broken glass bottles, dismantled pieces of a rifle or two, and a mess of vomit was strewn about the room.

"Hawkeye!" he called.

No answer. "Lieutenant, open this door!" Still no answer.

Again, he was kept waiting. Hayate's screams only grew more intense as he stood listening for his subordinate to finally answer the door, and with the dogs whining so Mustang's impatience soured to anger. After a minute he began beating the front door and, without meaning to, broke the latch and stumbled into the apartment. There wasn't much time to consider the damage he made on her property when the dog bit him and ran down the hallway to continue to bark uncontrollably. He was asking Roy to follow him.

"Lieutenant, are you here?" he called. He examined the den and kitchen before hesitantly walking down the hallway to meet Hayate. He suddenly found the source of the dog's concern.

In an unmoving heap, Hawkeye lay unconscious on the floor. Her blonde hair was tangled and dirty. In one hand she held scotch, in the other she held a gun. Roy flipped her body over and held her and as furiously knelt to wake her. She didn't respond. He looked around and understood what happened; she drank until she couldn't anymore. The amount of alcohol in her body could be dangerous, so he carried her to the tub, undressed her (leaving on her sports bra and underwear out of respect), and gave her a hot bath to open up her pores to sweat it out.

Using alchemy, he heated the water and his anger struck a more personal tone when he suddenly asked himself why. He studied the bubbling water, considering the possibilities.

_What's the date? Is today the anniversary of something terrible that happened? Could she have been injured? Did someone say something to her? How could she be so irresponsible to drink all day and skip work? She didn't even call in! _

He hated this guessing game.


	4. Chapter 4

Her head was swimming and her stomach felt like a puddle of disarranged organs. The light stabbed her vision and she felt her headache worsen as if someone was driving stakes into her forehead. Riza looked around the room confused, wondering where she was and why she was there.

She absently registered a stern voice to her left gritting out a demanding question, "What in the hell were you thinking?" It was Roy…er…the Colonel. No, still not right. Fuhrer. Fuhrer Mustang. What was the question, again? "Answer me, Lieutenant. My patience with you has worn thin." Shit. What was the damn question?

Hawkeye opened her mouth to reply and was taken aback by the taste of iron running down her throat. Getting sick so many times made the stomach acid tear away a bit of the lining of her esophagus, leaving it raw and bloody. _Push through it, soldier_. She tried again, "Sir—"

A pause as she calculated her response. For a third time, Mustang was kept waiting. This test of patience went thoroughly unappreciated and he lost his temper, "Dammit, Lieutenant Hawkeye. Did you think you could just have the day off without calling in? What did you do, wake up in the morning and decide to drink all day long and shirk your responsibilities at Central? I gave you a job to do and if you don't take it seriously than I have no problem assigning it to someone else."

She tried to care that she missed work as he continued, "And what's more, you could've been sick with that many drinks. Did you drink all five of the bottles of scotch I found around your apartment or did you have a friend over to help you? You're an adult, Lieutenant. I'm disappointed that you can't act like one."

His disappointment. As he yelled she noticed that she was on her couch and that her boss had pulled the reading chair next to her. It was dark outside, and with his ranting she realized that it was probably late the same night, or very early the next morning, of the day that she had skipped work.

After he finished, a long silence filled the room. She understood the majority of his speech and fought back a moan as her headache grew still more intense. She knew he was waiting for an answer and didn't like to be kept waiting, so she said the first thing that came to mind.

"Sir, my job is done. I stood by you to hell and back, and now I am nothing more than a danger," it took strength of character to finish the sentence. Her head pounded and with each word she both wanted to vomit and rip her throat out. She was still drunk and the alcohol made the couch feel like a swaying boat, making it more and more of a challenge to keep from getting sick.

Hawkeye shamefully diverted her eyes so that they might not compromise whatever little fortitude her tone could muster. Mustang sat quietly and began to understand her goal. She hadn't been drinking to forget, she was drinking to be forgotten. That's why she had the gun, she must have meant to pull the trigger but passed out before she had the chance. He closed his eyes and thanked whatever god was out there for that moment, that she fainted before she could kill herself.


	5. Chapter 5

Reasoning words were exchanged for a while, then fighting words. Soon Hawkeye's energy was completely exhausted and the argument evolved into a staring match. Minutes passed until finally, "I can't allow myself to be distracted by stubborn people. I have a country to run. If you're determined to die, then so be it."

Roy stood swiftly, but managed to catch a glimpse of her reaction to his cruel words. Throughout the debate she tried to explain that she felt worthless and hated her job. She felt like nobody needed her, or even wanted her, and came home each day to the only living thing that looked happy to see her. She wasn't going to go on living for a dog; that's pathetic. And being careful not to sound unprofessional, Mustang countered her by trying to put the decision into perspective.

Of course there are people who need her and are happy to see her every day, but he couldn't include himself in that category so nakedly without appearing to be an admirer. Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but he struggled to talk sense into her because he knew how long she's been considering it. He of all people knew that when Riza Hawkeye makes a decision, she thinks of every detail before coming to a conclusion. It wouldn't be easy to dissuade her.

His dismissing statement meant to dismiss the conversation, and perhaps guilt her into understanding the subtext of his rebuttal. However, the fury in his tone made the comment seem more like he was dismissing her life as a used pawn he could do without.

Her eyes took on only the slightest change. Still deadpanned, a stone faced attempt to seem unaffected by his opinion, there was a moment when he saw the sadness. The hopelessness she must have been feeling for the past three years since he was appointed Fuhrer was elaborately etched into her being, and Roy felt a twang of guilt. His promotion marked the beginning of this phase for her.

_Stop, it's not your fault. Even if she blames you, you can't let it affect you. _

_But she can't die. I can't have that, it wouldn't do at all._

He had stepped toward the broken in door grabbing the handle but stopped himself from leaving. Mustang didn't know why he needed to say it, but he turned to see the Lieutenant staring blankly at the wall ahead of her and said quietly, "Riza…"

He gathered a bit of courage, "Please, _I_ need you."

A moment passed, "No, Roy. You don't."

He was frustrated, and completely vexed by her depression. Mustang couldn't believe how the knots in his stomach tightened and pulled when he thought of a world without Riza in it. His head spun and no matter his fixation, he couldn't think of a realistic solution to give her that might change her mind. He needed her and she had to be told that. It was selfish of him to want her alive for his own benefit, but he really didn't care.

He turned pointedly on his heel, grabbed Hawkeye by the arms and stood her up in front of him. Riza was a little curious by it, but ultimately didn't care what he did anymore. As they stood facing each other, she found a hint of restraint in his manner. She could tell that he was struggling to find the right words to say that might help her understand when he pulled her closer. Hawkeye felt his breath, smelled his cologne.

Oh, his smell. She closed her eyes and let the smell of him being this close fill her up. He'd smelt the same way when he studied under her father and each time he passed her, after all these years, she reveled in the opportunity to catch his scent in the passing breeze. She'd never let him know it, but it comforted her and even calmed her down.

Mustang gave up on words and held her up by the waist, pulling her chest to his. His other hand cradles her head and their mouths met. Roy toyed with her bottom lip, but it took Riza a moment to decide to return the kiss. Despite the circumstances, she tasted like sugar. Her lips were perfect for his.


End file.
